


Omega the Imperial's Cooking Adventure

by zeldadragon1313



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cooking Lessons, Crack, Gen, I REGRET NOTHING, I dunno I've been sitting on this for like a year, I had way too much fun with this, Professional Procrastination, Well - Freeform, and probably wrote it instead of sleeping or a paper, by a crazy Imperial Dragonborn, crazed squirrel mimicry, not so much cooking lessons as food gathering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 14:57:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15608781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadragon1313/pseuds/zeldadragon1313
Summary: WHELP here we go with this. It's my first fic posted here, so hopefully I get the formatting right the first try. I'm just gonna dump it all in one chapter to fight with, partially because it isn't horribly long but mostly because I have no idea what I'm doing. No houses or dragons were harmed in the making of this cracked out disaster.





	Omega the Imperial's Cooking Adventure

       Talvas Fathryon was concerned, to say the least. He had been the steward of Lakeview Manor for several months, and had been travelling with the Dragonborn for a few before, but never had he been quite as worried as now. Not even the time that the young Imperial had spontaneously roared out a shout and jumped off a cliff to see if it would really keep her from injury could have prepared him for this.

       She was going to cook.

       The Dragonborn, who showed no previous inclination, and definitely no skill in the culinary arts, was going to try to cook. She was racing around like a madwoman, snatching up anything that looked even remotely edible in the house.

       “Hey Talvy! I’m going off for now, watch out for trouble!”

       Talvas prayed to the Divines that the dragonborn would not be back to cook any time soon. Even a dragon would be better than the disaster that would likely ensue.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Lydia looked up from one of the vast number of books that had taken residence in Breezehome over the course of its latest ownership as the Dragonborn raced inside. “Hello, my Thane- by the Eight, what are you doing now?” Exasperation at her thane’s insane and often near deadly antics over the years colored the snarky housecarl’s voice as she watched the Imperial gather food like some form of crazed squirrel.

       “And what in Oblivion are you wearing?”

       “Interesting choice of words, Lyds, especially considering what Daedra have decided they want to be buddy-buddy with me, but I’m kinda really busy so I’ll have to sit down and catch up with you later. Or maybe we’ll raid a crypt for old time’s sake and catch up then.”

       Lydia flinched internally at the memory of the last time she had been dragged into one of the many old Nordic ruins, and decided she would probably be better off not asking about the Daedra. “I think I’ll have to pass on that offer. What are you doing with all that food?” asked the housecarl, with growing dread.

       The Dragonborn pulled down her mask and gave a massive grin that completely dashed Lydia’s hopes for a sensible answer from the near insane Imperial.

       “Cooking.”

       Lydia stared at the door in horror long after her thane had gone, deeply pitying whatever poor soul would have to clean up after the impulsive decision of the Dragonborn.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Farkas was a simple man who enjoyed simple things: fighting, food, and the company of his Shield Siblings. And despite their differences, the Harbinger shared these likes. So he could see why she was gathering food, but wasn’t sure why exactly she needed all of the food in Jorrvaskr again. Though if it happened like last time when she intimidated the cooks of Dragonsreach into preparing a huge feast for the Companions, he wasn’t going to complain. What confused him was her response to him asking if that was what she was planning.

       “Not exactly. I’ll be cooking!” the Dragonborn replied with a grin normally seen before she stabbed people. Farkas quickly decided that this was not a good thing.

       “I hope you won’t be doing it here.”

       “Of course not silly!” chirped the young Imperial. “There isn’t even an oven here. I’m gonna do it at one of my houses!” With that, the Harbinger ran from Jorrvaskr, probably off to spread more chaos and confusion. She was surprisingly good at that for a hero.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Farengar Secret-Fire, the court mage of Dragonsreach, considered himself to be open minded, having even accepted the existence of dragons fairly easily. Even so, he was thoroughly confused when he saw the Dragonborn leaving the kitchen of Dragonsreach with her arms piled high with food. “Hail, Dragonborn. A bit hungry today, are you?”

       The Dragonborn’s resulting grin, which Farengar personally thought put more emphasis on the ‘dragon’ part of the young Imperial’s title, did nothing to ease his worries.

       “No, not really. I’m going to cook! Maybe you’ll even get to try something that I make!”

       With that, the dragonborn raced out of Dragonsreach and off to heaven knows where, as usual. Farengar, who was completely unable to forget how horribly, horribly wrong the Imperial’s first alchemy lesson had gone, sincerely hoped that for once the Dragonborn would not keep her word.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Paarthurnax, the ancient draconic grandmaster of the Greybeards, was deep in meditation when he caught the odd mix of dragon and mortal that was the Dovahkiin’s scent. He stirred himself from his revere to greet the young one as much out of concern for whatever trouble she had gotten into as his respect for her prowess. The great dragon opened his eyes and gazed down at the mortal, and gave his greeting. “Drem Yol Lok. Greetings. Have you come to meditate on another word of power, Dovahkiin?”

       “Kinda sorta not really.” replied the human. “I was wondering if you know any Thu’um that could help with cooking.”

       Paarthurnax blinked at this, slight surprise and mild amusement coloring his voice. “No, Dovahkiin. The dovah do not cook, or if they do it is only with fire, nir ahrk krii. To hunt and kill.”

       The Dovahkiin’s face seemed to droop at this, in a mortal’s way of showing sorrow or dissatisfaction. “Oh. Okay. Well, sorry for bugging you Paarthy! I’ll come and stay for a real conversation later, but I gotta fly! Or, well, wish I could. Bye!”

       With that, the mortal roared out the shout of becoming ethereal and launched herself from the top of the Throat of the World. For a moment she almost looked like a ghostly dragon taking flight, before rapidly dropping out of sight in the midst of near-hysterical laughter. Paarthurnax chuckled at the young one’s antics, and slipped into his meditation once more.

                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Brynjolf, second in command of the Thieves’ Guild, was certain that he had the Dragonborn’s quirks and oddities pinned down. After all, he had been there with the Guildmaster from the start, had given her that first job in the marketplace to plant a stolen ring. He only realized how wrong he had been when he saw the incredibly impulsive Imperial walking across the Cistern carrying a massive amount of food. “What do you need all that for, lass? Is your dragon demanding you feed him now?”

       The Dragonborn gave a grin that Brynjolf knew meant trouble, and said the one thing that he never thought he’d hear from her in a thousand years.

       “Nah, I’m just gonna cook.”

       The thief was, for once, rendered speechless. He could do nothing but stare after the Guildmaster and pray she wouldn’t try to persuade him to try anything, or at least if she did it that it wouldn’t be with that blasted Amulet of Articulation on.

       He wondered if the situation could possibly be more absurd, and decided that it wasn’t possible as he watched Vex run after the Imperial lass and heard his fellow thief’s indignant cry.

       “Hey, aren’t you gonna take any jobs?!”

                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Dexion Evicus, the blinded Moth Priest that currently resided among the Dawnguard, heard the Dragonborn enter the castle. It was actually pretty difficult not to, since for some reason the young Imperial felt the need to slam open the doors and screech for Serana’s whereabouts every time she visited. The ex-vampire would then usually disappear with the girl for anywhere from a few days to a few months, depending on the adventure they were on.

       But this time was different. The doors were still slammed, but there was no ungodly wail for the young Dragonborn’s friend. Instead, the girl seemed to have charged off in the general direction of the kitchen, with only a few quick greetings along the way.

       Dexion decided that he wanted nothing to do with the half-mad Imperial and whatever she was up to, and stayed safely upstairs where the Dragonborn seldom bothered to go. The spontaneous and honestly terrifyingly cheerful young Imperial had caused him more than enough trouble already, even if two Elder Scrolls had been gained from her misadventures.

                                                                          ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Calder had only been recently assigned as housecarl to the Dragonborn, and so far he liked her. Sure, she snuck around a bit much for a hero, but the brief adventures she had taken him on proved her prowess as a warrior. He didn’t really know what to think of her adoration for explosive magic, though he was thankful for her small skill at the healing kind. But one thing was most certainly clear:

       She was just as crazy as everyone said. Possibly even more so.

       Take now, for example. His Thane was running around and snatching up all of the food in Hjerim, hopefully with the intent of cooking instead of seeing if she could beat a giant to death with cheese wheels. He honestly wouldn’t put that past her, though he had no doubt she would somehow manage it if she tried.

       “Bye Caldy! See ya in a while!” With that, the dragonborn raced out with a pile of food half as big as she was. Calder just sighed and went out to resupply the house, having learned that it is best not to question the strange Imperial’s motives. Doing so usually gave him headaches.

                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Neloth Telvanni was in the middle of a delicate experiment, as he always seemed to be when the Dragonborn appeared. Fortunately, the time it took her to levitate to the top of the tower after her initial screech of ‘Nelly’ was often enough for the wizard to put away or protect anything that the Imperial might accidentally break.

       “Nelly! Do you know any enchantments to help with cooking?”

       This time, Neloth almost broke a delicate piece of an experiment. “What in the world would you need that for? I certainly hope you know what you’re doing, and that you aren’t going to make a mess of my tower again.”

       The Dragonborn gave the same grin he recognized from their trip into Nchardak, the only differences being the fact that they weren’t in flooded dwarven ruins and the not-quite-sane Imperial wasn’t beating automations into submission with a wooden sword just because she could.

       “Nope, I’m gonna do it at one of my houses in Skyrim! I built a kitchen and everything.”

       Neloth sighed, and handed the impulsive young woman a ring enchanted to protect the wearer from fire. “Here. I will not stand the disgrace of having a member of House Telvanni die in a fire caused by their own failed attempt at cooking.”

       “Oh, have some faith Nelly, it can't go _that_ badly. Anyways, see ya! And thanks for the ring!” With that the girl gave a single worded shout, turned herself ethereal, and stepped off the edge of the landing platform, completely ignoring the levitation spell for getting to ground level as usual. Neloth sighed, almost regretting making the impulsive human a member of Dunmeri nobility.

                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Tolfdir was looking for his once again misplaced alembic when the Dragonborn raced into the Hall of Countenance and started gathering all of the food in sight. “Hello Arch Mage,” greeted the elderly wizard. “I seem to have misplaced my alembic again. Would you mind helping me find it?”

       “Look underneath the left display case in the enchanting room.” Replied the… Unique Imperial.  “I’m kinda busy, but it was there last time.”

       Tolfdir, after recovering his alembic, returned to the Dragonborn to thank her and stopped in his tracks when he saw her carrying a huge amount of food. “Are you planning some sort of experiment?”

       The Dragonborn gave the same grin that she once had shortly before disintegrating that absurdly powerful dragur that had been guarding the Eye of Magnus. “Yep! A culinary experiment!”

       Tolfdir paled as he watched the Imperial run out of the Hall. Judging by the Arch Mage’s horrible failures at alchemy, this was not going to go well.

                                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Nazir, Speaker for the Dawnstar Sanctuary, was not amused with his Listener’s spontaneous decision to take the majority of the food in said Sanctuary. He was even less amused that Cicero had decided to help her. He couldn’t stomach the jester at the best of times, much less when he was following the Dragonborn around and singing.

       “Ho hoo hoo hee, ha hee hee ho, the Listener has gone as mad as poor Cicero!”

       Speak of the devil.

       “Onwards to the kitchen!” shouted the Imperial.

       Apparently, this was too much even for a madman.

       “Oh, but Listener, Cicero must tend to Mother! She must be oiled, and flowers arranged, and… Um, tended!” came the near panicked pleas of the insane jester.

       “Aw… Hey Nazir!”

       “No.” the Redguard replied flatly. “As far as I know, I’d be better off drinking one of Babette’s poisons.”

       The Listener huffed. “Party pooper,” she muttered as she carried the vast quantity of food to Sithis knows where.

       Nazir sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Sithis preserve us…”

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Ondolemar, a Thalmor Justicar and one of the most superiorly bred Mer in Skyrim, was pacing before the Mournful Throne as usual. This did little to alleviate his boredom, not that he’d admit it. That would seem undignified, and Auri-El knew these Nordic barbarians possessed enough indignity without being exposed to his. His interest was piqued, however, when he saw the Dragonborn race past him towards the kitchen. The Imperial, by far one of the most tolerable humans he had ever met, skidded to a stop and whipped around to greet him.

       “Hi Doley! Know any good recipes?”

       Ondolemar gave her the most confused look that his status in Aldmeri society would allow, having decided to overlook the use of her infuriating nickname for him this time. “Whatever would you need recipes for? And of course I don’t, I am a Thalmor Justicar. Not a cook.”

       The Dragonborn gave one of the most worrying grins the Mer had ever seen. “Well I’m gonna cook! Anyways, I gotta run. See ya!”

       With that, the Dragonborn continued her mad charge to the kitchen. The rather confused Mer just sighed and resumed his pacing, secretly grateful for the newest and quite odd distraction that the young Imperial had not-quite-purposely provided.

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Faendal had asked the Dragonborn to gather food for a cooking lesson. Thinking back on that, he really should have specified how much food. The poor elf looked in shock at the mountain of food in the main room of Heljarchen Hall, with smaller cousins of the pile having taken residence in both the kitchen and the storeroom. He was currently just trying to grasp the sheer magnitude of food his human friend had gathered. “You know, you really didn’t- why did you- how in the world…”

       The Imperial standing next to him grinned madly. “Beautiful, isn’t it? Let’s get started, Faeny!”

                                                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

       Talvas was still quite worried, but relaxed a bit when the Dragonborn walked back into Lakeview manor without visibly carrying any food. “What happened to the cooking idea?” asked the dark elf warily.

       The Dragonborn shrugged in response. “I kinda sorta may have burnt one of my other houses down. But don’t worry! My steward for that one is okay, and it’s being rebuilt without a kitchen!”

       Talvas sighed in open relief, and followed the Imperial to her bedroom, where the human dumped an outrageous amount of equipment and valuables on the floor and sat down to sort them (By the Ancestors, where did she even KEEP all of that?!).

       “Well, what are you building instead?” the elf asked cautiously.

       The Dragonborn gave a grin that would worry a giant. “An enchanting tower!”

       Talvas simply considered himself lucky that the half mad Imperial seemed to like this house the way it was, and smiled.

       “I hope you’ll be better at that than cooking.”

       The Dragonborn cackled, and decided all was well. Except for the dragon corpse outside, but she would clean that up later.


End file.
